Don’t Ya Hate Pants!

KARA: “So,” my bridesmaid Joy begins, a sinister twinkle in her eye, “how well do you really know Brian?” She unfolds a wrinkled list of Brian’s deepest, darkest secrets.

We’re halfway through my bridal shower. Having had a few glasses of Chardonnay, I’m not intimidated by this quiz. I know all the dirt, even the name of his first doll or, as he called Stanley, his “buddy.” (Sorry Brian!)

“For every correct response you earn a piece of lovely bling,” Diane says, displaying a ring purchased from the Liberace Romance collection. The crowd seated before me ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs.’ “And for every wrong answer,” she continues, “you get a piece of gum–and you have to chew it!” (FYI, I hate gum.)

Joy gazes at me intently and asks: “Let’s say you are going out for hamburgers.” I nod. “Brian wants you to bring something home for him. What toppings do you request for his burger?”

“I’d get mustard, ketchup, barbecue sauce, cheese, and lettuce,” I answer. Joy sighs.

“What about his bacon?” she demands, “and the mushrooms!?” I extend my hand for the Bazooka.

Ten gaudy rings and several Bazookas later, I’m ready for the final question.

“Brian has a favorite exclamation he uses to express frustration,” Diane says gravely. “What is it?”

“It’s ‘Don’t ya hate pants!'” I answer with confidence.

“Correct!” Diane shouts. “You can now officially marry our brother!”

OK. Onward and upward.

Don’t Ya Hate Pants!